Sáralissë
by tingilaire
Summary: As the Third Age of the Sun comes to a close, the turmoil of the War of the Ring sets the stage for a tale of courage and faithfulness, hope and despair, passion and romance, and bittersweet memories.
1. Act One: Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Lord of the Rings; it all belongs to the amazing and brilliant Professor Tolkien. Movie elements belong to the equally amazing Mr. Jackson and Co. However, I do lay claim to my OC and several minor non-canon characters. 

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« Author's Preface »

Sorry for taking so long to get this back up. But, I finally discovered that my muse only functions at his peak efficiency between the hours of 10:00 pm and 1:00 am. So, as you can see, I have limited time in which to work. Hehehe…

Yes, this is the revised and refined version of Sáralissë. While it's far from perfect, I hope that I've fleshed it out some more, bringing in more background and changing a few things here and there.

As a reminder this is somewhat of an AU fic, which means there is some breach of canon, although I hope you don't find it _completely_ out of context. I took pains not to change things haphazardly. 

Even though it's been rewritten in some areas, I still consider this to be my first fanfiction. So, I'm just as nervous as I was when I first posted this story at the beginning of last year. Hehehe. But as always, please let me know what you think and what you like, and what could or should be changed. You know, I never realized the joy of reviews until I actually started writing. It is so helpful. So please, if you have the time, review. 

A very special thank you and hugs to my beta, who is not only an amazing beta, but an awesome author as well. We've had some great times, Calenórë! Thanks for all your time and for sharing the Lord of the Rings hilarity. Dancing Orcs Forever! ;p

I hope to see some familiar readers from the first go around and I especially look forward to new readers who might happen to stumble upon this little fic.  

Enjoy!

» tingilaire

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Sáralissë 

Part 1.1

by » tingilaire

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--Rivendell | III 2620

It was quiet. Too quiet. Elrond set his quill down and frowned lightly. From his seat at his desk, he turned his head to the window, listening for a familiar sound. But he only heard the light rustle of the wind tousling the rusty, red-gold leaves of his beloved Imladris. The sun was set low behind the surrounding mountains, creating a splendid fusion of pinks and purples and oranges that reflected in the clouds overhead. Elrond watched as the last bit of the sun disappeared behind the mountains, bidding the day farewell and heralding the evening to come, before he rose form his seat to discover the whereabouts of his children. He sauntered down the halls of his home, not concerned about the unwonted lack of activity from his brood, only curious as to what they were up to otherwise. 

It was comforting to have the children—his children—all together at home, he thought. It was not always so. The twins divided their time between home and riding with the Rangers. Elrond did not blame them—there was not much for them to do in Imladris anyway. Elrond had all the help he needed from Erestor, his trusted advisor, and Glorfindel, Imladris' most exclusive Elven lord. Still, he did not want his sons to feel underappreciated, and included them in whatever business he had concerning Imladris. His elder daughter spent much of her time in Lothlórien with her grandparents, particularly after Celebrían departed. It was probably best for her. She and the Lady of Lorien drew comfort from one another and as the granddaughter of the Lady of Light, she was given special duties among the Yavannildi.  

In truth, though, it had been rather lonely when they were gone. At times, when all was quiet, he thought he could hear their childish singing or their laughter, pearling like tiny silver bells outside in the garden. But, the sounds always dissipated, fluttering like a flock of sparrows into the wind. He would chuckle lightly and remind himself that they were not little children anymore. No, not Celebrían's children. And as much as he wanted to protect him and have them close after their worse nightmare had come to life, he had been advised to allow them the space they needed. After all, they were grown up now. 

But, after a trying period of highs and lows, the joy of children's laughter could be heard in his household once again. The addition of his youngest child to the family had brought him newfound joy, despite more personal loss. Elrond had been nervous at how his elder three would react—they were grown now and could understand well the conditions surrounding this child's existence. A child brought into being through his union with another woman. But not just another woman, oh no. It was much more complicated than that, he thought ruefully. And yet again his children had surprised him and welcomed this little girl with open arms; even Elladan, who had had his doubts in the beginning. They had come together as a family, however unconventional their situation was.     

And that is how he found them now—a family. It was late in the afternoon, just before the evening meal, and the children of Elrond, Master of Imladris, were gathered together in a large, open room and engaged in various activities. Lord Elrond paused in the doorway and watched his children, smiling fondly as his they went about their business unaware that their father was secretly spying on them. He sighed contentedly. They were the one thing in life that brought him sheer, unadulterated joy. 

The eldest, Elladan, was sitting at the far end of the room, polishing an old helmet. Elrond supposed the ladies found him devilishly handsome with his dark hair and grey eyes that sometimes reflected green from the surroundings. Compared to Elrohir, Elladan had always been the more outgoing twin: gregarious, bold, and amiable on a non-personal basis. Like his brother and sister, the brutal attack and sad departure of their mother had left a lasting effect on Elladan, although perhaps a more negative effect than Elrond had initially thought. Elladan had always been close with his mother and after she left, he became more belligerent, impulsive, and disregarding. He was an angry young man driven by aggressive energy. Elrond remembered how the twins soon allied themselves with the Rangers of the Dúnedain, vengefully hunting Orcs wherever they could find them. He was horrified when they returned from their first slaughter, Elladan covered in Orc blood, the bloodlust evident in his wild eyes.  Even Elrohir, who was also bent on seeing justice done, was shocked at his brother's rage. Thankfully, his fury had subsided over time but Elladan could still be fiery in temperament when provoked.

It was funny how opposite they were and yet it wasn't all that ironic. Like many twins, they were two parts of a whole, balancing each other out. Despite their differences, there would be a sense of emptiness in their lives if either of them were gone. Of course, Elrond knew this very well. He himself was a twin and he was deeply crushed when Elros had decided to live the mortal life. And, when Elros had departed the earth, a part of Elrond went with him and Elrond knew that he would never feel quite as whole as he once did. His own twins were a bit different though. Whereas Elrond and Elros had been inseparable in their youth, Elladan and Elrohir seemed to manage just as well when they were on their own. It was just an aspect of their polarity. 

Elrohir, the younger twin, was busy painting away on a blank canvas. Amid the fluid strokes, Elrond could already see that his son was painting one of his favorite subjects: his siblings. He had to admit that Elrohir's talent was superb. He had a way of capturing the moment and the emotion, making it come alive from the canvas. His work was beautiful. This one was immensely different from his brother. Physically, of course, they looked very much alike: Elrohir was perhaps more gaunt and delicate compared to his brother and his grey eyes tended to reflect more blue. But in character and temperament, one would never have guessed they were twins. Elrohir was of the scholarly type; observant, insightful, and wise beyond his years. He was generally calm and reserved and emotionally steady. Many times, he was the family mediator, usually seeing the big picture and being the voice of reason. Elrond was not certain if it was Celebrían's attack and subsequent departure that caused Elrohir to become so serious, or if his placid son would have taken on such a demeanor regardless. One thing was certain though: Elrohir adored his little sister immensely. 

Elrond's eyes shifted over to his youngest child who sat on the floor gazing at the illustrations in her storybook. She made quite the pretty picture, with her waves of dark brown hair and large eyes. Strange eyes. One dark blue, the other deep green. The fact that she was the last living memory of the love of his life endeared her to him especially and although he didn't like to admit it, he was terribly overprotective of her. After her mother passed away, leaving him to raise their daughter without her, he did not think he could do it. He did not think he had the strength to raise another child when his others were already grown to adulthood. But he had managed and truly, her upbringing was a collective effort of her older siblings as well. She was a wonderfully precocious child, curious, observant, and questioning. She ran around the house like a puppy, petted and spoiled. Elrond found he couldn't help himself; he had been indulgent with all his children.   

Then there was Arwen, ah, his beautiful Arwen. Even from a young age, Elrond and Celebrían knew their daughter would be beautiful. Even his youngest, who he reckoned would grow up to be beautiful in her own right was no comparison to Arwen. She truly was Lúthien incarnate, the greatest beauty of her time. And Elrond knew that it was not only her physical beauty, but her inner beauty that made her shine all the brighter. He remembered how worried he had been about Arwen after Celebrían's attack. Would she be traumatized after seeing her mother injured so brutally? he kept wondering. He had kept a close eye on her, but all she was concerned about was the wellbeing of her mother. And to Elrond's surprise, Arwen showed amazing resilience. She was able to see the hopeful side, a trait he found particularly astounding. A trait she had inherited from her mother. 

Elrond marveled at how his children complemented each other. Arwen, with her nurturing nature, did wonders at soothing Elladan's temper; they both gave each other a sense of being needed and appreciated. Young Ereselle fascinated Elrohir, bringing out a vibrant side to him that sometimes betrayed his serious nature; Elrohir provided her with an outlet for knowledge.  

He lingered a while longer in the doorway, then exited quietly, returning to his study. On the way back, he paused in the doorway of another room; this one cold and empty save for a few wooden chests in the corner. He had bypassed this room many a time, never really giving it a thought when he did. But, he knew all too well what was in there. A rusting crown, a tarnished scepter, a broken sword, all entrusted to him as a kingdom crumbled under the writhing hand of darkness. For Elrond had in his possession the heirlooms of Arnor, given to him in the last days of the fading kingdom by those few remaining who fled the evil grasp. Among these heirlooms were the Shards of Narsil, the Blade that cut the Ring from Sauron's Hand. Elrond closed his eyes as if in pain. The surge of memories swelled up and threatened to overwhelm him with appalling detail. All the death and destruction. His King, Gil-galad, slain. A great victory with a heavy price to pay. The War of the Last Alliance. 

I should display them, he thought to himself. They should be given the honor that they deserve, especially since The Last Homely House was a refuge to the Chieftains of the Dúnedain. Certainly they would want the honor of seeing their heirlooms kept respectfully, not in a corner collecting dust. Those frightful days were over; it was time for him to come to terms.  

A thought occurred to him. Perhaps he would ask Elrohir to paint that very moment upon one of the walls, to commemorate such a great victory over the forces of evil. It was, after all, one of the greatest victories of their times. Yes. The far wall could be his canvas and the entire room could be opened up more, the heirlooms displayed around the room with the Shards in the center. It could prove to be a rather extensive investment, he realized, as Elrohir would want to put more of his paintings on display. Arwen might have a few tapestries she would like to put up. Elladan would suggest that other weaponry be displayed as well. And Ereselle would think of something she could contribute in time. Elrond felt a tinge of excitement at the prospect of starting this project and he was eager to begin drawing plans.

Unexpectedly, an anguished cry from the other room ripped through his thoughts. It was Ereselle's scream, of that he was certain. Dear Eru, what is wrong? he wondered. She had been perfectly content just a moment ago. He realized that children often cried for no apparent reason and Ereselle had certainly had her share of temper tantrums. But this sounded different. This was a cry of great fear and distress. Elrond rushed back to see what was wrong and burst into the room, his heart pounding, eyes searching for his daughter. "What happened?" he demanded. 

"I don't know," Arwen answered, staring wide-eyed at the sobbing child in her lap. "She began wailing all of a sudden."

"A bad dream, perhaps?" Elrohir suggested. He glanced back ruefully upon his ruined painting. The sudden outcry from his sister had caused him such unexpected alarm that he had run a streak of green paint across the length of the canvas, rendering it useless. 

"No, I don't think so. She was wide awake," Arwen said, wiping the tears from her sister's cheeks with a delicate hand.

"Are you sure?" Elrond asked, taking his young daughter into his arms. She was terribly flushed, as if with fever. She wrapped he arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. 

"I'm certain," Arwen insisted. "I had her seated in my lap and I was reading to her when she suddenly began to cry."

"Well, why don't you ask her what happened?" Elladan said brusquely, stating the obvious. 

Elrond frowned disapprovingly at his son, but did as he suggested. He sat her down. "Ereselle, precious. Come now, dry your tears and tell me what happened," he coaxed.  

She looked at him with large eyes. "It saw me… it was looking at me," she said, her voice barely audible. 

"What was?" he asked gently, so as not to make the child anxious.

"The Eye! The large, red Eye!" she said, becoming more distraught. She fidgeted anxiously on the stool and turned her head, looking back and forth between her brothers and sister desperately. They watched her, concerned but intrigued.  

"What happened? What did it do?" Elrond pressed on, wanting to find out more. 

"It was flaming… on fire. Coming closer and closer and…and…no!" she said, becoming very upset now. She held tight to Elrond as he stroked her back comfortingly. There was no point in distressing her further. 

"All right, all right. No more. We'll go down and get you something to eat," he said, looking at her with deep concern. If this was a dream, it was no ordinary dream. "You frightened me terribly, you know?" he told her gently. 

She raised her head from his should and looked him in the eye. "I did?" she said in amazement. He nodded his head as he wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I'm sorry, _ada_," she said, lowering her head to rest on his shoulder once more. He exited the room with his young daughter in tow, leaving the other three to sit there, bewildered and strangely disturbed by the entire episode.   

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-- Rivendell | III 2851

"Ereselle, you're fidgeting again. Hold still, please," Arwen pleaded as she ran a brush through her sister's hair.  She sighed and shook her head disapprovingly. "How you've gotten your hair so knotted is beyond me." 

"I was only trying to braid it," the little girl explained, wincing as Arwen struggled to pull the brush through the tangled mass. "Now tell me, what's going on today? Why must I be so—ow!" Arwen gave a little gasp as she gaped at the brush and the clumps of brown hair clinging to it. It was a mighty good thing that Ereselle had a lot of it. 

"We've guests arriving today," Arwen said, consentrating on pulling the strands of hair free from the brush. "The Istari, Curunír and Mithrandir; Lord Círdan, from Mithlond; Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel; and perhaps Thranduil from Mirkwood."  

Ereselle sat forward, her eyes lighting up. "You mean I finally get to meet your grandparents?" she asked excitedly. "I finally get to see them, the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien! Wait… but why all the other guests?" 

"That, my dear, is nothing you need to concern yourself about," Arwen said in a tone that told Ereselle not to pursue the matter further. "    

* * * * * * * * * *

Later that day, as Ereselle walked down the many corridors of her home, she spotted her father greeting a handsome looking couple outside. The man was silver-haired and had a kind, friendly face. She saw her father take the man's hand, speaking warmly. The woman looked on, her face remaining emotionless, but she was remarkably beautiful nonetheless. Excitement grew within Ereselle as she came to realize that this must be the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, for they shone with a seemingly ethereal aura. Ereselle decided that she must get a closer look. With her stomach fluttering with tiny butterflies, she came forward and grasped Elrond's hand, looking up shyly at the two Elves before her. 

 "Galadriel, _mae govannen_," her father replied graciously, taking the Lady's delicate hand.

"Elrond," she acknowledged, her voice soft but rather curt. 

As Ereselle laid eyes on this woman, it dawned on her why Arwen was so beautiful. She came from a long line of beautiful women and here was proof.  Her eyes sparkled with twinkling lights and her hair was a beautiful amalgam of silver and gold. She was every bit as graceful and regal as Ereselle had imagined the Lady of Lothlórien would be and she found herself entranced immediately, like a moth to a flame. One thing Ereselle did notice, and that she found a bit strange, was that Galadriel never once smiled as she greeted Elrond. In truth, she did not seem too pleased to be in Imladris at all. 

Elrond had been anxiously awaiting—or perhaps dreading—this day. Galadriel would meet Ereselle for the first time. What would she think? He hoped it would not be too disappointing for his daughter. Ereselle had been eager to meet both guardians of Lothlórien, but she was especially keen on meeting Galadriel, whom she had heard so much of through history and legend. He squeezed Ereselle's hand lightly. Gesturing to his daughter, he said, "This is—" but was suddenly cut off in mid-sentence by the Lady herself. 

"If you'll excuse me, Elrond. It's been a long journey and I feel the need to retire," Galadriel interrupted, not even glancing at Ereselle as she walked towards the house.  

That was unexpected. Elrond was crestfallen. She hadn't even bothered to look at Ereselle. He stared, dumbfounded for a moment before the anger flared up and settled in. What was he to tell Ereselle? How could he explain to his daughter that Galadriel would make no efforts to acknowledge her existence? The perplexity of it angered him further. 

Ereselle frowned and looked up questioningly at Elrond. "_Ada_?" she said quizzically. As he turned to her, the frown on his brow disappeared and Elrond gave her a sympathetic look. He felt sorry for her as she watched Galadriel walk up the stairs and into the house, the expression on her face struggling, as she was not sure whether to be hurt or offended by Galadriel's ignorance. 

Celeborn watched his wife uneasily as she walked into the house. He cleared his throat. "Ah, yes," he said, his tone apologetic. He turned to Ereselle and smiled kindly. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Ereselle. We've heard much about you; your brothers and sister speak of nothing else." Ereselle smiled, relieved that Celeborn seemed to be much more pleasant than his wife.    

Celeborn exchanged an amused look with Elrond. "I've brought another guest with us. This is Haldir," he said, ushering forth a young, light-haired boy about Ereselle's age. He looked up at Elrond before bowing courteously. "We've taken Haldir under our tutelage. He's shown great potential and we have hopes to groom him as the marchwarden of our lands." 

"Ah, excellent notion. I'm sure you will make a wonderful marchwarden, Haldir," said Elrond. He looked at Ereselle. "My pet, why don't you take Haldir and give him the grand tour." Ereselle nodded and looked expectantly at Haldir, who remained stationary. He looked up at Celeborn, his face seeming to ask 'Do I have to?' Celeborn scowled lightly and pushed him forward. 

There was a moment of silence as the two lords watched the children head off. Celeborn raised an eyebrow at Elrond. "Well, you certainly gave him enough encouragement. He's not the marchwarden _yet_, you know," he said lightly.

At this, Elrond let out a long sigh of relief. He felt as if he had been holding his breath for ages. His shoulders sagged slightly. "Does he live with you in Caras Galadhon?" he asked, to make conversation.

"Yes, Galadriel thought it best that he come and live within Caras Galadhon," Celeborn replied pleasantly. "It would be easier to train him and have him study if her were under our direct tutelage. It was difficult to convince his family to let him go, but in the end, they consented. He has two younger brothers who I daresay might prove to be competition for him one day. Galadriel has her eye on them, too." 

Elrond smiled thinly, but he wasn't really paying attention. He turned his attention to the house and shook his head. "That did not go well," he muttered, feeling snubbed and defeated. 

"She is the way she is," Celeborn said in the tone of a man who knew his wife all too well. "It may not seem like it, but the events surrounding Celebrían were not that long ago; for both of us, but especially for Galadriel. It still weighs raw and heavy in her thoughts."

"Even so, she should not direct the bitterness of what happened to _her_ daughter upon my own," Elrond replied bitterly. 

"Do not be too upset, Elrond," Celeborn said sympathetically, putting his hand on his shoulder and directing him into the house. "Give her some time to warm up to Ereselle. I'm sure she will find that she is a delightful little girl."

* * * * * * * * * *

Ereselle took Haldir through the compound, pointing out what and where everything was with an almost mechanical pedantry. They were now in the gallery where the heirlooms of Arnor were kept and she went through and showed Haldir everything, from the scene Elrohir had painted on the wall to the Shards of Narsil on a pedestal in the center of the room. Haldir had remained quiet throughout the tour. Occasionally, he would look at something intently, but for the most part he seemed disinterested. Ereselle had the feeling that he was trying to hide his awe and curiosity behind a facade of apathy. 

But something else was biting at her thoughts. The convening of so many of the Wise and the clandestine nature of the importance and meaning of such a gathering was perplexing to Ereselle. Being unable to pry answers from her brothers and sister only made her curiosity bubble over even more. She glanced at Haldir who was studying Elrohir's mural, recognition and a seeming appreciation displayed on his face. They hadn't said much to each other, but she decided to ask. "Haldir, do you know why you're here?" she asked, hoping that perhaps he had a clue as to what was taking place. 

Haldir turned to her, startled. He registered her question in his mind and shook his head. "No, I'm just here to accompany my Lord and Lady," he stated. "If I'm going to be Marchwarden, I'll have to know where other places are located," he added matter-of-factly. 

Ereselle nodded, hiding her disappointment. She waited a few moments, but couldn't help herself. "Well, why do you _think_ you're here?"

"I don't know," he said, faintly annoyed by her questions. "I do as I'm told. Why are you so interested anyway? Obviously there is a reason why we were not told."

"Yes, but what is that reason? Why are there so many of the Wise fathered here today? Why have they all gone into my father's study and shut the doors? Doesn't it pull at your curiosity just a little?" she pried, hoping she could spark the tiniest interest in him. 

Haldir looked at her blankly. "No."

Ereselle looked at him skeptically. So far, he had proved to be a rather dull boy with a haughty air about him. "You mean to tell me that you don't wonder why Lord Círdan has come all the way from the Grey Havens instead of making sure the boats are ready to take those who wish to depart to Valinor? You haven't given a thought as to why Thranduil would come all this way from the north?"

"Thranduil?" Haldir repeated, light sparking in his eyes. "You mean that silly old king who lives underneath the ground in dark, dreary caverns built by _Dwarves_, hoarding his treasure and his wine?" he said, raising an eyebrow. 

"That's not a very nice thing to say, Haldir," Ereselle reprimanded. Where had he heard such things? Well, at leas she had his interest now. 

"But it's true," Haldir retorted. 

"And how would you know?"

"Everyone knows that. He rarely leaves his caverns and he has more riches than you can imagine and he's always greedy for more. They saw he's even tamed the Spiders that roam his land." Haldir explained this all with an enthusiasm that he had not previously displayed before and for a moment he had Ereselle drawn in. She thought about it. Was there really a king like that, who could tame the Spiders of Mirkwood? She had heard tales about the Spiders. Horrible, frightening creatures whose bite could paralyze and even kill. But it all seemed to be an exaggeration, and although this too tugged at her curiosity, Ereselle could not be bothered to wonder about it.  There were more immediate matters at hand. 

"Come," she said, exiting the room and turning down one of the open hallways. 

"Where are you going?" Haldir asked, but she did not answer. He watched her go for a moment before deciding to follow. He followed her until she stopped in front of two large, closed doors. Elrond's study. "We cannot go in there!" Haldir exclaimed.

"No, of course we can't," she said thoughtfully. She turned around and made her way outside. Confused, Haldir followed. Outside, he found her reaching up for a tree branch. She jumped up and grabbed one, hoisting her legs up around the branch before swinging upright.   

"What are you doing?" Haldir asked. 

Ereselle held a finger to her mouth to quiet him. "Shh, not so loud. Don't you want to know what's going on?"

He looked doubtful. "No… well, yes. But we can't."  
  


"Why not?" Ereselle asked challengingly. 

"Because… because it's none of our business. Whatever it is doesn't concern us."

Ereselle realized that this boy had no real sense of adventure. He was much too trained to do exactly as he was told. "How do you know? Perhaps they are in there right now, planning to marry you to a troll. Wouldn't _you_ want to know?" she said, jesting half-heartedly. She laughed to herself, thinking that if Haldir had been ordered to marry a troll upon Galadriel and Celeborn's wishes, he just might do so. Haldir frowned. "You don't have to come up here if you don't want to," she said with a sigh, finally giving up. She began to climb once more, with increasing difficulty due to her dress. Nevertheless, she continued on until she was about fifteen feet off the ground. 

"Come down now," he pleaded. "You can show me around some more. You can take me to the gardens… or… the library! You have a library, don't you?"

Ereselle just ignored him and settled herself between the branches for the best view. From her vantage point, she could clearly see the participants. All of the guests were present and so were the most important and noble citizens of Imladris, including her brothers and sister; Erestor, her father's friend and advisor; and Glorfindel, one of the highest Elven lords in the land. The discussion was being held in Quenya, a language Ereselle had limited understanding of. 

The tree branch began to shake suddenly and Ereselle grabbed another nearby branch to steady herself. Haldir's head appeared from below and he pulled himself up to join here. Ereselle threw him a smug look but he ignored it and turned his attention to the Council. 

The head of the Istari, whom the Elves called Curunír, stood up to address the rest of the Council members. Ereselle wrinkled her nose in mild distaste. He was an elderly man, with a long, drawn face, a beak-like nose, and angular features. His eyebrows came down heavily upon his eyelids, which gave the illusion that he was always looking down upon others. His countenance held none of the soft kindness and humble wisdom of his fellow wizard, Mithrandir; this wizard had a look of dangerous cunning. 

"Is the White Council ready to commence?" Curunír asked. The others nodded their heads in consent. 

Elrond looked around, his brows furrowed. "Thranduil is not in attendance?"

Mithrandir spoke up. "No, he has declined to come. Thranduil rarely leaves his realm and wishes to have little dealings with the outside world. Nevertheless, it is pity that he is not here for our meeting today concerns the immediate safety of his realm and his people."

"And this is the reason you have called for a meeting?" Erestor asked. 

Mithrandir nodded. "As you know, activity of a dark nature has been brewing in Dol Guldur for a long time. At first we thought it to be the work of one of the Nazgúl… the Ulairi. But I fear that it is far worse than we ever imagined." Mithrandir paused, looking as if he might not continue. 

"Yes," Glorfindel pressed him. "And what have you discovered?"

Ereselle glanced at Curunír, who had remained quiet since the beginning and quite purposefully so, it seemed. But she noticed that even though he sat back and watched the discussion with a cool, unreadable countenance, he appeared to be bothered by the fact that Mithrandir had taken hold of the discussion.

Mithrandir took a deep breath before continuing. "I have gone into Dol Guldur several times within the past years and the last time I was there was not more than a year ago. It was then that I discovered that Thráin, the Dwarven king-in-exile, had been taken prisoner within the fortress. In his captivity, the last of the Seven Rings had been stripped from him. Only then did I realize that his captor was none other than Sauron." Several of the council members gasped quietly. The others looked stunned. "Yes, Sauron has returned. He is gathering all the Rings to him and seeks news of the One."

A heavy silence followed. 

"What is to be done?" Galadriel said, her velvety voice breaking the silence.

"I would urge an attack on Dol Guldur as soon as possible," answered Mithrandir bluntly. "The sooner, the better."

Curunír looked as if he might say something, but then thought better of it. His face was stern, set in straight lines, but he looked anxious.   
  


"What say the rest of you?" Mithrandir said, looking at the others. 

"An attack would mean the uses of our Lorien forces. We are limited in the number of troops we have. I personally would prefer not to engage in war, seeing as our lands border Mirkwood and consequently Dol Guldur," Galadriel said. She turned to her husband. "Celeborn?"

"The forces of Lorien would be few," he admitted. "Mithrandir, we do not know much else about Sauron's resurgence. How many legions does he have? What are his defenses? How powerful is he?"

"They say he appears only as a red, lidless eye stationed high atop his tower. He has not regained his full power yet. He needs the Ring to do so," Mithrandir offered.

At the mention of the Eye, Ereselle watched as her father stiffened and shifted in his chair uncomfortably.  He appeared thoughtful before speaking his opinion. "I do not wish to engage in a battle when I do not know the strength of the enemy," Elrond said resolutely. "I will not send troops." Mithrandir's face fell. He was counting on Elrond to be his chief support, for he had fought in the War against Sauron before. 

"Father, you of all people should know better!" Elladan exclaimed. "You of all people know the folly of letting opportunities slip by. You were at Isildur's side, you watched as he took the Ring, you had the chance to—"

Elrohir put a restraining hand on his twin's arm, squeezing it hard. "Elladan. Don't start," he warned darkly. Tension filled the air as Elladan looked as if he might go on anyway, but he reluctantly quieted. Elrond sat stiffly in his chair, his jaw clenched. 

All eyes now fell to the Lord of the Grey Havens. "My people are peaceful people, they have no interest in engaging in war," said Círdan with a nervous laugh. His tone then grew solemn. "While your intentions are noble, Mithrandir, perhaps more time should be given to plan and accumulate." 

All fell silent again. None of the Elven Lords were willing to fight. The situation did not look promising. 

"Well, I agree with Mithrandir. We cannot wait too long," Glorfindel said in a clear, loud voice. 

"Aye," Elladan added enthusiastically. His eyes were already burning intensely as he pictured the battle. He turned to look at his twin, his eyes questioning as Elrohir gave him a doubtful look. 

"Both sides seem to have legitimate reasons for deciding whether or not to fight," Elrohir began carefully. "True, more time is needed to prepare adequately. But if we wait, Sauron's power will grow stronger and stronger and we run the risk of him finding the Ring. I think we should take him out now—quietly while we still can, before too many people become involved."

The younger Elves turned desperately to Curunír. Only he could break the deadlock. "The decision stands at five votes to five, Curunír," they said. "What do you say?" 

Curunír looked at them and raised his eyebrows. "Keep in mind who you are dealing with. This is the Dark Lord Sauron. He is not one to be meddled with lightly. Yet, we cannot let this go by unnoticed and undealt with. In all truth, I would not advise _against_ an attack, but _postponement_ would seem a better option at the moment. Let us gather more information. I can send out agents to scout out news. If we are to do this, then we must do it with the utmost precaution and preparation." 

"And what if we wait and Sauron grows more powerful than we can handle? He will wipe us out!" Elladan said heatedly. 

Elrohir opened his mouth to reprimand his brother once more but Elrond held up a hand as if to say 'let me handle this.' "What makes you think that we can go up against him now without being slaughtered mercilessly?" Elrond said calmly, addressing Elladan. "It does not hurt to take the time to find out what exactly we are up against." 

"Could we not just send out smaller bands of troops and attack steadily in the meantime? Surely he has not regained a great amount of power."

Elrond shook his head and continued on patiently. "No, we don't really have the resources ready nor do we have that many troops to spare so casually. It's best not to guess how powerful he is. If we spend some time finding out more information on the situation, we would be much better off. We should not provoke him just yet. 

"Oh, so we should let him strike the first blow?" said Elladan with angry skepticism.

"It might come to that. It could be a casualty, but it's a precaution that can do us more good than harm in the long run. It's just too early to tell anything. We'll have to let it be for now."

"What about Thranduil? This is his territory we are dealing with," Elladan began in a last attempt to sway the vote. 

"Thranduil has chosen not to partake in this Council," Curunír said sternly. "His opinion is void, therefore he has no say."

The decision left none with any real satisfaction, but to Mithrandir and the younger generation of Elves it seemed that Curunír had sided with their lords. There was not much they could do. It was not worth the risk to start a skirmish if everyone did not have their hearts in it. The issue was neutralized for the moment but surely there would surely be another council before any real decisions would be made. 

Curunír rose from his seat to take his leave. The Council was over. "Be on your guard," he warned, as the others got up to depart. "Orcs will be on the move to heed the call of Mordor. Increase the lookouts on the borders of your lands and do not hesitate to correspond with each other if any notable activity takes place."

Ereselle and Haldir looked at each other, befuddled and disturbed by the whole conversation. It all seemed very serious. Would there be war? One thing that particularly stood out to Ereselle was the mention of the Eye. Why did that description seen so familiar, she wondered. 

"We should get down now, before someone finds us," Haldir said, breaking her conversation. He clambered his way down and waited for her at the bottom. 

Swinging her legs over, Ereselle grabbed a tree branch and was about to lower herself down when, in a flash, a scene from her younger days played before her. She had been very young and was sitting on Arwen's lap one afternoon as she was reading a storybook. She remembered enjoying the story until she began to feel odd. Her head felt funny and Arwen's voice began to fade until she couldn't hear it any more. A darkness had enveloped her, turning everything black. She had become very frightened because she could not see or feel Arwen or the twins. She had reached out, hoping that someone was there. She felt that there was someone looking at her from behind. As she jerked around in fear, she beheld a red, flaming eye before her, growing bigger and brighter, coming closer and closer. A screaming filled her ears. Then, the apparition was gone as soon as it had appeared. When her surroundings returned back as they were, she found that is was she who was screaming. She felt awfully hot. Her family had asked her what was wrong, but she couldn't explain. She was too young. 

The sudden memory hit her like a stone wall and she lost her hold on the branch.  She fell through the air, her arms flailing, but she didn't even have time to scream before landing on an upturned tree root with appalling impact.  She felt the air burst from her lips in a gasp as her back made contact with the ground. Panicking as she struggled for breath, she tried to cry out, but couldn't. Haldir had watched her as she fell and was quickly at her side. 

"Are you all right?" he asked desperately. "What happened? Say something!"  

But she couldn't speak. She couldn't even cry from the pain. She struggled, gasping for breath as her lungs constricted impossibly tight. Finally, she was able to draw in a breath of cool, fresh air. She gasped gratefully through her coughs and gags, and she tried to sit up to ease her breathing. Haldir told her to lie still, but it didn't matter anyway. She couldn't move, even if she had wanted to. It was as if her body weighed hundreds of pounds. Her eyes widened in fear. "Haldir… I can't… I can't move!' she cried, her voice rising with sobs and hysteria. 

"What do you mean, you can't move?" He looked around urgently for someone, anyone. "Someone, help!" he called. 

Ereselle closed her eyes, praying her father would come. Tears slowly slid down her cheeks, dripping down to her ears. "_Ada_!"

____________________

« Author's Note »

An interesting little tidbit: the color of Ereselle's eyes is a genetic condition known as _heterochromia iridium_—the presence of different colored eyes within a single individual. 

Lets see, is there anything else I need to mention? Oh. I put the dates in as references, so you can see how Ereselle and Legolas age in the story and how old they are at the time of certain events in LotR history. I hope no one is too confused about their approximate ages. 

I'm no expert in Elvish, but I've tried to construct some Sindarin names for the various characters that I've brought into the fic. It was actually difficult to come up with names in Sindarin… mainly because I found a lot of the words difficult to put together. And, there aren't as many words in Sindarin as there are in Quenya and I had a hard time finding Sindarin dictionaries. But I didn't want to give these Middle-earth Elves Quenya names, now. Anyway, I hope these make sense.

Ereselle » lonely daughter/only daughter

FYI: Curunír and Mithrandir are the Elvish names for Saruman and Gandalf, respectively.

Um… I plan to update this fic every one to two weeks, so we'll see how that goes. There might be exceptions, depending on my schedule and—meep!—writers block.

Other than that…

If you will please proceed to the **«review»** sector, your intermittent reading pleasure shall be complete. =D 


	2. Act One: Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Lord of the Rings; it all belongs to the amazing and brilliant Professor Tolkien. Movie elements belong to the equally amazing Mr. Jackson and Co. However, I do lay claim to my OC and several minor non-canon characters. 

________________________________________

Sáralissë 

Part 1.1

By tingilaire

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--Mirkwood, Thranduil's Caverns | III 2620

Evening settled into the dark woods of Mirkwood, although it was hardly discernable amidst the constant, depressing gloom. The home of Thranduil, the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm, lay quiet, carved into the hills of the Mountains of Mirkwood and hidden by the great misshapen trees. The stillness within the caverns mirrored the silent, looming darkness of the outside like an uncomfortable pause. The forest lay cold and dark, ushering forth the nighttime horrors of a once great realm that was loosing its battle against the growing darkness that spread like a descending mist. 

Lothelien walked briskly down the halls of her cavernous home, searching for her son. The child had not been seen since early that morning when an after-breakfast fiasco left him in tears. His father had accidentally stepped on and crushed one of Legolas' beloved toys. When the tears fell from Legolas' eyes as he beheld his broken toy, Thranduil had only made the situation worse by yelling at Legolas for leaving his toys lying around to be stepped on. Naturally, the boy only cried harder and ran out of the room. He had been quiet and out of sight ever since.

She wished Thranduil would have a little more patience with the boy sometimes. He was hardly out of his toddler age and the poor boy could hardly understand why his father became so upset on frequent occasions. Lothelien descended a flight of stairs and entered the king's magnificent hall, crossing the large, ornate room and swinging a right into the kitchen. She glanced around but only found the kitchener starting preparations for supper. Lothelien frowned in perplexity. Where could he be?

Stepping foot into the dinning hall, she beheld her fair-haired little boy sitting down at the large table, legs and feet dangling over the seat of the chair, crunching down on sugar treats from the kitchen, his fingers covered with sticky candy. She sighed. Legolas knew better: sweets were meant for after supper and _only_ after supper. She folded her hands over her chest and opened her mouth for a scolding when her husband suddenly entered the room. 

Legolas was startled by the sudden appearance of his father. He looked at him warily, trying to assess his mood this day. Even at his young age, he knew his father was a moody individual and that it was best not to bother him when he was in one of his sulks. But Thranduil smiled kindly at his son and sat down next to him and the young boy visibly relaxed. Lothelien let out a silent sigh of relief. 

Thranduil took the young boy and placed him on his lap. She hung back and watched them now, as Thranduil took one of the last sugar treats in his hand and put both hands behind his back. After a few moments, he presented two closed fists to Legolas and motioned for him to pick one.

It's not that Thranduil was a bad father or a mean father. On the contrary, Lothelien knew that he loved his son dearly and was very protective of him. But when he turned to one of his moods, he took out his frustration, and whatever other emotions he had bottled up inside, on Legolas and herself and anyone else who was in his way. He became ill tempered and impatient and it terrified Legolas. And when they sought to comfort and soothe him, he pushed them away. It was difficult, for many within the household. One simply never knew when Thranduil would sink into one of his moods and all suffered. 

Fortunately, today's little skirmish had been forgotten, or at least regretted. Thranduil usually felt guilty after his initial outbursts, especially when Legolas was concerned. She watched, smiling, as Legolas first chose the right hand. When he was presented with nothing, he immediately pounced on the other, trying to pry his father's big hand open. Thranduil finally relented and opened his left hand to reveal, yet again, nothing. But before Legolas could protest, Thranduil held up a finger to quiet him, reached behind Legolas' ear, and procured the missing sugar treat. Quickly, he closed his hand again and in a blink of an eye opened it to reveal nothing. Legolas frowned, bewildered. 

"_Ada_," he whined, pouting, although there was a playful glint in his eye. He soon climbed over his father, poking and prodding, and finally reaching into Thranduil's deep pocket. She suppressed a laugh as her son's face lit up and he retrieved the lost sugar treat and popped it into his mouth, grinning and giggling wildly. Her husband joined his laughter, obviously delighted with his son's perseverance in retrieving his prize. He happened to look her way as she watched lovingly from a distance. He seemed to be taken by surprise, but finally managed a small, almost shy smile at her. She loved it when she smiled; she always did. And it melted her heart even more because such smiles were so rare from him nowadays. 

She entered the room now, and smiled down at her son who was seated on his father's lap now. Legolas grinned up at her. She reached into her sleeve and presented her son with the toy that had been broken that morning: a carved horse made from the wood of a Mallorn tree. The legs had been broken off, but she had been able to reattach them.  Legolas' eyes lit up. "Thank you, _naneth!_" he exclaimed, taking his toy and hugging it to his chest. He then proceeded to bounce it lightly up and down on the table, mimicking a galloping stallion.

From where he sat, Thranduil put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He rested his head against her stomach and sighed deeply, almost sadly, as she stroked his long, golden hair. It was a peaceful, domestic moment that they both treasured within their hearts.

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--Mirkwood, Thranduil's Caverns | III 2941

The past few days had been particularly peculiar for Legolas Thranduilion and, in fact, everyone else within Thranduil's halls. Word had spread fast. A dozen Dwarves captured within the course of two days. One Dwarf had been brought in the day before; the rest had been captured by a small band of Elves returning from patrol. Legolas stood now at the Elvenking's side as the Dwarves were brought, bound and blindfolded, before his father in the great pillared hall. The Elves claimed that they had thrice been disturbed by the Dwarves and that their clangor had roused the Spiders. Two of their men had been injured as they strove to fend of the foul creatures. Thranduil listened to their grievances intently, and when they had finished, he ordered the blindfolds removed from the Dwarves. 

Legolas looked curiously upon the Dwarves who were standing in front of his father, looking frightened but trying to hide it behind a defiant façade. Up until this point, he had never seen a Dwarf before. Now, he had seen more than his fair share. He counted: there were indeed 12 of them, not including the one that had been brought in the day before. They were stout men with thick, braided beards and gruff, weathered countenances.  

Legolas stole a glance at his father, who was seated majestically on his throne of carved wood. Upon his head he wore a crown of berries and red leaves, reminding Legolas that autumn was at hand. The autumn celebration was coming soon and Legolas felt his spirits lift at the thought of the upcoming feast. His father surveyed the Dwarves grimly. He had a keen dislike of Dwarves, something Legolas never fully understood. "What has brought you into my forest?" Thranduil asked the Dwarves at last.

Thranduil questioned them long and hard about their business in Mirkwood—where they had come from, where they were going, and what was their business-- and only grew only more impatient with their refusal to give him an answer. The Dwarves themselves were none too pleased to be held prisoner and made no attempts to be polite. "What have we done wrong?" one of the Dwarves asked, almost indignantly. "Is it a crime to be lost in the forest, hungry and thirsty and terrorized by Spiders? Why would the killing of these Spiders make you angry, unless they were your tamed pets?"

Legolas could see his father nearly trembling with anger at this absurd accusation. "It is a crime to wander in _my_ realm without permission!" he said in a loud roar that made everyone jump, including Legolas. "Did you forget that you were in _my_ kingdom, using the road that _my_ people built? Did you not trouble _my_ people in the forest _three times_ and rouse the Spiders with your riotous noise? After all the disturbance you have made, I have a right to know what brings you here. And if you will not tell me now, I will keep you all prisoner until you have learned sense and manners!"

The Dwarves were seized immediately by the surrounding men and dragged away against their will. "Put them in their own cells and give them food and water, but do not let them pass out of their cells doors until they are ready to speak!" his father bellowed.   

Legolas took this opportunity to slip away quietly; his father was angry and upset now and would be for at least the rest of the day. He walked out of his father's hall and went to find his mother, going through the west door in the throne room and mounting the staircase that led to a long hallway. As he entered his parents' large chambers he found her bent over her desk, writing away. 

"Would it be an understatement for me to say that things did not go well?" she asked, glancing up from her paper to where Legolas now sat on the bed. "I could hear him roaring from all the way up here." Legolas shrugged and his mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "He should just let those Dwarves go. They're probably harmless. He is overreacting."

Mother was probably right, he thought. The Dwarves looked fairly harmless. They had weapons with them, yes, but only small knives. Who didn't carry some sort of weapon with them nowadays? Then again, what would a band of Dwarves be doing in Mirkwood? Could they be a scouting party, perhaps? Legolas didn't know any Dwarves but he had been somewhat biased against them as influence from his father, who had a deep disdain for Dwarves and anything Dwarvish. Which was rather hypocritical, since the very caverns that he called home was indeed delved by Dwarves.  

Legolas opened his mouth to comment on his mother's remarks, but his voice abruptly caught in his throat as he spied something peculiar from the corner of his eye. A strange shadow had passed the doorway, although Legolas had seen no one to whom the shadow belonged. He knitted his eyebrows in puzzlement. 

"Legolas…? What are you looking at?" his mother inquired. 

"Oh, nothing," he replied finally. "I just… lost my train of thought."

Heavy footsteps were heard coming down the hall and Lothelien glanced up sharply. Thranduil was storming down the hall, his shoulders stiff, fists clenching and unclenching tightly. He came into the room and looked at Legolas. "Go," he said tightly. Legolas got up from the bed and walked out of the room, not even stealing a glance at his father. He was used to this and had learned not to feel hurt by his father's coldness, although he was rather irked that his conversation with his mother had been cut short. He could hear her murmuring soothingly, although she was probably telling his father how foolish he was truly being. It wasn't unlike her to do so: she was not easily intimidated by his temper.

Legolas continued down the hallway, the mysterious shadow lingering curiously in his thoughts. 

* * * * * * * * * *

Over the next week or so, Legolas had seen the strange shadows on several occasions, quickly darting in and out of rooms and pathways. He was reluctant to confide in others what he had seen, but he knew that he was not the only one who realized the presence of this Shadow. No one else seemed to _see_ the Shadow, or if they had, they had dismissed it as a trick of the mind. One the other hand, others within the palace seemed to have a general _feeling_ that something was lurking about, and they often times looked over their shoulder or cast wary glances about. He had even seen his own father do a double take. It was an altogether uncomfortable, foreboding feeling, but for the most part everyone kept it to themselves. 

One afternoon, as Legolas was on his way to his chambers, he caught wind of an interesting conversation between two off-duty sentries. They were sitting down casually on a bench, their backs up against the wall, chatting away about something curious they had seen. They paused and nodded as Legolas passed by. Legolas smiled at them in return and turned the corner, then paused in his tracks to listened in on the conversation.

"Yes, it feels like some dark presence is lurking around the caverns," one of them continued. "I could have sworn I've seen something at least once or twice." 

The other gave a little laugh and said,  "Perhaps it's a ghost."

"I don't know…" the other replied doubtfully. "What kind of ghost is only three feet tall?" 

The guard had a good point, Legolas reasoned. But, if it was not a ghost, what could it be? He waited for them to say more, but the conversation quickly turned to women and Legolas lost interest. He turned around and raised his foot to take a step; but no sooner had he done so he paused in mid-step and held his breath. 

There it was… the Shadow. Legolas was able to see it more clearly this time against the carved grey walls, for the Shadow was oddly stationary. It appeared to be the shadow of a small, chubby child, scurrying around barefoot. It turned from side to side trying to decide where to go next, as if lost, before scurrying down the corridor. Legolas made up his mind that he would follow it. Perhaps he would be able to discern where it came from. He followed it stealthily as the Shadow moved hesitantly through the hallways of the palace, keeping his eyes peeled for where it might pop up next as it darted from darkness to light. Unfortunately, he did not have his eyes open for other people and he inadvertently bumped into a kitchen maid.

"Oh, dear! I'm sorry, sir," she apologized, but Legolas ignored her as he continued on quickly. He was able to catch a glimpse of the Shadow as it moved even quicker, turning sharply down another corridor. Blast! Legolas thought. It's startled now and he knows someone is on to it. He hurried after.   

He was able to keep up, fortunately never loosing site of his quarry, and now found himself in the soldier's quarters. Legolas passed by the door where a large group of guards was laughing riotously amongst themselves as they talked. He had finally reached a dead end, where the soldier's barracks met with a stone wall. The area at the end of the hallway was darkened, cloaked in shadow. Legolas knew that was where the culprit was, although he could not make out the shape. He walked towards down the hallway slowly, then stopped, as he didn't know what to do next. 

He stood there in silence, contemplating the idea of perhaps talking to it to see whether it was a being of intelligence or not. But suddenly he felt a push—no, a shove—against his legs and they gave way from underneath him. It was so unexpected that he didn't have time to catch himself before falling on his back to the stone floor with a splat. He rolled over onto his stomach immediately but the Shadow was gone. Legolas could hardly believe what had just happened. Could it be that the Shadow was not something intangible at all, but a being with substance? It had to be. He was positive that he had felt something push him out of the way. The touch was not cold, as he supposed a ghost's touch would be, but warm, full of life. 

A guard peeked his head around the corner, gazing curiously at the prince lying on his stomach looking bewildered. "Sir, are you all right?" he asked, not quite sure what to make of it. 

Legolas looked at the guard and realized that he was still on the floor. He felt his cheeks redden and quickly picked himself up off the floor. He smiled at the guard, who was still looking at him peculiarly, and hurried away.

Legolas soon resolved to catch the Shadow. He studied its movements secretly for a series of several days, which was difficult, for unless there was enough light, Legolas could not always see it. The Shadow made a conscious attempt to blend in with the surrounding dimness, only venturing into the light when absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, Legolas was able to determine that the shadow often passed down the corridor that led to the cells where the Dwarves were kept. How peculiar, he thought. Legolas was forbidden to go into the actual holding area, but he followed the Shadow as far as he could.  

He soon devised a plan. He would need a torch and a weighted net. Borrowing these items from the storeroom, he set up his rudimentary trap in the corridor. Taking the torch, he fastened it into one of the holders near the doors so that he would be able to see the Shadow from behind the door. Then, he positioned himself behind the door with his net in hand and waited. Hours passed and there was no sign of the Shadow. But Legolas remained determined and patient. Finally, before nightfall, he could hear the softest patter of bare feet on the stone floor. Holding his breath, he waited for the Shadow to pass through the doorway and inside a few feet. Just as the Shadow was about to pass into the darkness, Legolas quietly slipped out from behind the door and cast his weighted net at the shadow.

Legolas gaped as the net seemed to float in mid-air, flailing and shifting about. He couldn't believe that there was actually something there! Despite what he had seen with his own eyes, he did not think that he could have actually caught something that seemingly had no physical substance. A strangled cry was heard and the creature struggled to free itself. "Reveal yourself, shadow," Legolas hissed, although he was not sure that this thing could reveal itself. The shadow stopped struggling for a moment and the net was still, and suddenly a small creature was standing before him, appearing out of thin air. Legolas was completely bewildered.

"Please, will you take this thing off me?" the small creature said, speaking in the Common Tongue. Legolas awoke from his shock and nodded eagerly, doing as he was requested. As he lifted the net, he stood back in amazement and was able to get a clearer picture of this curious-looking creature. It was small, perhaps three-and-a-half feet tall, with a mop of curly brown hair not only on it's head, but also on it's large feet. Legolas had never seen anything like it before. It looked somewhat like a man, and yet had this child-like quality to its appearance. 

"What… what manner of creature are you?" Legolas managed to ask, more out of curiosity than interrogation. His eyes scanned over the creature in wide wonder. "You don't look like a Dwarf."

The creature, in return, looked at him in awe, trying to be brave but obviously exhibiting his weak nature. He looked as though he couldn't decide whether to run or not. Decision finally settled on his face and he looked up at Legolas and said, rather proudly: "I… am a hobbit."

Legolas bent down to take a closer look. "A hobbit?" he repeated as he brought a finger up and poked the hobbit on the shoulder cautiously.

"I beg your pardon," the hobbit said indignantly. "There's no need to poke and prod like I'm some sort of dead animal." Legolas quickly withdrew his finger.

"What are you called, hobbit?" he asked, sitting on his knees, but never taking his eyes off the little furry man. He was truly fascinated. 

"That is my own business," the hobbit replied tartly. He was particularly defensive, Legolas observed. "And who are you anyway? And why have you captured me?" The hobbit folded his arms over his chest. 

Legolas frowned. "All you need to know is that I am the king's son." If he can withhold his name, so can I, he thought. He felt that this creature was in no position to ask questions. "And, I have captured a trespasser in my father's home." He forked his eyebrows. "In any case, what are _you_ doing here?"  

The hobbit looked at Legolas angrily but did not answer. In turn, Legolas stared hard at the hobbit. The poor thing looked terribly beat and tired. Legolas felt himself soften and take pity. "Are you hungry?" he finally asked when he received no answer to his first question. The least he could do was offer this creature some food; perhaps then he would receive more answers. The creature looked harmless enough. 

The hobbit continued to eye him warily but his face soon softened and became rather pained. "Yes," he said miserably, his body sagging slightly.

"Stay here, I'll return shortly." Legolas got up to leave, but turned back, suddenly worried that the hobbit would leave as soon as he turned his back. "You won't leave, will you?" The hobbit shook his head in fear. 

Legolas set out to the kitchen and returned quickly with the promised food, but was terribly disappointed to find that the hobbit was nowhere in sight. His eyes searched the corridor. "Hobbit? Where have you gone?" he called out, his voice echoing in the hallway. He turned around and let out a small yelp as the hobbit appeared before him.

"Sorry," the hobbit said sheepishly. "I couldn't very well stay out in the open when you left." His eyes fell on the bundle that Legolas had in his hand. "Oh… is that buttered bread with jam?" he asked, his eyes seeming to glaze over. 

Legolas looked down at the food, remembering that it was in his hands. "Oh! Yes, it was all that I could muster up. Supper won't be ready until later this evening." 

"That's fine," the hobbit said automatically, licking his lips as he reached for the bread. But before he could grasp it, Legolas took a quick step back. 

"Now wait. We can't stay here. Someone might see you and then you would really be in trouble. Come, stay in my chambers. You'll be safe there. You can eat and rest."

The hobbit looked doubtful. "You wont turn me in to your father, will you?" He looked at Legolas hesitantly, and then back at the food longingly. He was obviously torn between trusting Legolas completely and his ever-growing hunger. 

"You'll be my secret," Legolas assured, noting the hobbits apprehensiveness. "You needn't tell me your name, or confide anything you don't wish to. I'll bring you food and we'll think of a way to help you escape."

"You would help me?" the hobbit asked, rather amazed. 

"Well, you cannot stay here forever."

"No, I suppose you're right," the hobbit said rather sadly. 

"Quickly now, make yourself invisible again and we'll be off," Legolas interjected before the hobbit could object. 

* * * * * * * * * *

"I need a way to sneak out of here as inconspicuously as possible," the hobbit said, biting into his bread and speaking with his mouth full. Legolas watched him pace back and forth in front of his bed. The hobbit had gazed wonderingly at Legolas' lavishly furnished chambers and seemed to feel very out of place. But soon, with food and comfortable lodgings, the he had settled into an easy, rather congenial mood. "Which is not an easy task when you have thirteen of the loudest, most bumbling Dwarves in history." He stopped and looked at Legolas, waving the bread in the air enthusiastically. "This is really excellent! It's been so long since I've had any decent food."   

"Exactly how long _have_ you been here?" Legolas inquired. 

The hobbit sighed and looked up at the ceiling for his answer, chewing thoughtfully. "Let's see… I snuck in when the Dwarves were captured… five, six, seven… oh, I don't know. I would guess almost two weeks."

He agreed to tell Legolas why he had been in Mirkwood in the first place, explaining that he had been "hired" by the Dwarves for business that he was not at liberty to divulge.  Along their journey, they had encountered goblins on several occasions and before they had been captured by the Wood-Elves, they were at the mercy of the giant Spiders. All of this weighed very heavily upon the hobbit who had, if anything, been coerced into this adventure. And now he had been reduced to wandering the extensive halls of the caverns, trying to avoid being seen. 

"I think I've managed… no one has seen me, or if they have, they probably don't believe their eyes. Except for you, that is," the hobbit said. He suddenly looked rather embarrassed. "Oh, and I'm sorry for tripping you in the hallway that day," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head and laughing nervously. "But when I saw that you were following me, I didn't know what to do." 

"That's quite all right," Legolas said, dismissing the event as trivial. "But it should be so simple for you to escape!" he exclaimed. "All you need to do is use your magic, turn invisible, and walk right out the door."

"Magic?" the hobbit exclaimed in turn, alarmed. His tone grew guarded. "There's no magic," he said, almost insistently.

"Well, what makes your invisible, then?" Legolas asked, with a certain apprehensiveness. Despite all its good uses, there was something that bothered Legolas about the hobbit's ability to disappear. Something about it made him uneasy.

The hobbit appeared thoughtful. "In truth… I cannot tell you," he said, with a note of confused honesty. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "In any case—and I realize that Elves and Dwarves are the least of friends—but, I hope you understand that I cannot leave this place without that party of Dwarves," he said.

Legolas was surprised by this. "But you are free to go now. You can go back to your home and not face all the dangers that lie ahead. Why should a band of Dwarves hold you here?" 

The hobbit shrugged lightly. "I'm bound by contract." He sighed softly and a small, reluctant smile played upon his lips. "Besides, for all their bumbling and grumbling and altogether vexing nature, those Dwarves have grown upon me. They've shown me what a real adventure can be… and I must say, I quite like it." He looked up and smiled simply at Legolas. "We must continue on to our destination and I cannot do it without them." 

Legolas reflected on this for a moment. He had never had an adventure. It was hardly surprising, considering where he lived. Mirkwood was a dangerous place, and although it might have been the perfect setting for a wild adventure, there was no way he, Legolas, son of Thranduil and Lothelien, would be allowed to go off on his own. No, that dream had fluttered out the window a long time ago. Not that he didn't yearn for it still. 

Legolas studied the hobbit carefully. He was nervous and twitchy, constantly moving around and mumbling. A very animated fellow, he was. Legolas wondered if he was always like this or if it was just his unfortunate predicament that made him so anxious. From the sound of it, the hobbit didn't consider himself a very adventurous person; but Legolas felt that the hobbit had something in his make-up that was waiting for adventure. And now it had finally had its chance to come out. 

Turning back to the dilemma at hand, Legolas also realized he had gotten himself into a fairly uncompromising situation. He had promised to help the hobbit escape, but the hobbit refused to leave without his Dwarven companions. A silly notion, Legolas thought. Dwarves are nothing but trouble, his father always said. And from the sound of it, it was true. But Legolas didn't dare go back on his word—it would be terribly embarrassing. And yet, there could be far worse consequences. The Dwarves were official prisoners of his father; if they had somehow escaped, there would be hell to pay. But, he resolved, he would help the hobbit.

Legolas wracked his brains for an idea. Sentries patrolled the caverns and the surrounding areas outside. If it was just the hobbit who needed to make an escape, it would be quite easy. But, it would be difficult to conceal the Dwarves. They were short, but thick and stocky—almost barrel-like. An idea struck Legolas like lightening. It had appeared in his mind as a simple visual, not even a full-fledged idea. The hobbit wanted inconspicuous and this was it. He gasped with excitement and jumped up from his seat, causing the hobbit to look up at him curiously. "Wait, I have it! Barrels!"

"Barrels?" the hobbit repeated, not following Legolas' train of thought.

"Yes! The Lakemen send us barrels of fine wine and other goods. When the barrels are empty, we send them floating down the river back to Esgaroth. I'm sure we could fit you and the Dwarves in them, and when the time comes, you will be heading towards Esgaroth in no time."

"Really?" the hobbit asked, hope creeping into his voice. 

Legolas nodded. "And I know the perfect time to do it," he said, grinning madly. "The Autumn Feast is near at hand. Everyone will be outside in the woodland clearing, merrymaking. It will be the perfect time for you to make your escape!" Legolas stood and awaited the hobbit's approval. 

The hobbit considered this proposal carefully, rubbing his chin. "Yes, but how can such a plan be executed?"

________________________________________

« Author's Notes »

Lothelien » "persistent flower"

Originally chapter two was approximately 10,000 words long, but I decided that was way too much for a single chapter. So, I basically cut the chapter in half and turned it into two separate chapters. 

Reviews are very helpful and most appreciated!****

Much thanks to the following: 

Lvltwentyseven» thanks for waiting; I'm sorry I took so long! 

kpxHyunhee » I'm glad you like it. 

Perdu Dans Paris » I'm glad you asked. _Sáralisse_ is Quenya for 'bittersweet' 

magicharm » pleased that you like it. A pairing? It just might be… =) 

AsianScaper » maraming salamat! Such kind words; I am very grateful. Yes, I have slowly been gathering information on all aspects of Tolkien's world from various sources. Being a student of history, I really enjoy incorporating the history of Middle-earth into my fic whenever I can. 

blu-eyed-belle » I'm glad you like it and thanks for waiting! 

Kirjava the 2nd » Yes, you did review the first version. =) You sound a little unsure about this one… anything in particular that bothers you? Besides the name change? Hehehe. 

 Iluvenis » Mi amiga fiel! Estoy alegre que tu hallas gozado de la historia. Aprecio tus constantes revisiones tan entusiásticas. Perdon, mi español no es muy bueno. Ja ja ja =)


	3. Act One: Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Lord of the Rings; it all belongs to the amazing and brilliant Professor Tolkien. Movie elements belong to the equally amazing Mr. Jackson and Co. However, I do lay claim to my OC and several minor non-canon characters. 

____________________

Sáralissë 

Part 1.1

By tingilaire

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-- Mirkwood | III 2941

Legolas loved the Autumn Festival. It was the one opportunity of the year when his people came together to celebrate the season without worrying about the danger of their lands. The grand celebration took place outside the cavern walls and those who did not live within his father's home came from all over Mirkwood to join the festivities. Good food, good wine, plenty of stories and song and dance. Of course, there was always the danger of Spiders or raiding Orcs arriving to upset their merrymaking, but the Wood-Elves were well prepared for such an attack. Guards patrolled the perimeters, ready to sound the alarm at the first sign of trouble. 

However, Legolas had his own troubles this evening and, unfortunately, the festival would hold no comfort for him until his plan was followed through. He had discussed the plan with the hobbit and together they seemed to have every step laid out. They had spent the past few days perfecting it as best they could, deciding who would do what. Of course, anything could go wrong, but there was not much one could do it that case. They would just have to keep their eyes open and the rest, they would have to leave to luck. It suddenly dawned on Legolas just how defiant this course of action was. If his father ever found out that he had helped a band of Dwarves escape… Legolas cringed at the thought of the sound lashing he would receive. 

He sat, now, in the large chair next to his bed, his right leg bouncing up and down in anticipation. Why was he so anxious? It was not a life or death situation for him. This was not his daring escape. No. But it was life or death to the hobbit and his companions and he had promised to help. Legolas was nervous for them. He watched the hobbit as he napped in his own bed. He looked so small lying in the great bed that even Legolas found huge. 

He wanted to more about the hobbit. Where he came from, what his people were like, did all of them have this ability to make themselves invisible? But despite the brief summary of the events that had led to him being here, the hobbit had been rather reticent and guarded when Legolas had queried him about these things and Legolas decided to let it be. They had talked enough about the hobbit's adventure with the Dwarves, from how they had met Lord Elrond of Imladris, to how they had been captured by Orcs and then Spiders. Legolas delighted in hearing the first hand accounts and the hobbit had a natural flare for telling a good, dramatic story. 

Finally, Legolas got up and went to the bed to rouse the hobbit. They had waited long enough. It was time for them to leave. When the hobbit was ready, they headed to the cellar. Although no one was inside—they were all outside merrymaking—Legolas walked quickly down the corridors of the caverns as the hobbit struggled to keep up. 

They descended the stairway that led to Thranduil's Hall and Legolas paused, looking around cautiously to make sure that no one was present. Often times the festivities wandered into the feasting halls during the later hours of the night. When all was clear, they crossed the large room and descended another flight of stairs and down a long corridor before reaching the wine cellar.

Legolas stopped outside the door to brief the hobbit on their plan once more, not only for the hobbit's sake, but for his own as well. "Now, the old butler is named Galion. He'll be coming in here soon to ready the barrels for departure. I'll try to convince him to take a drink and I'll slip this into his cup." Legolas pulled out a vial from his pocket. "Water," he stated, his eyes glowing, "from the river that runs near our home. The tiniest drop of this will put him to sleep in no time. You'll grab the keys and free your friends. But, you must be quick about it because others will arrive soon to help Galion load and unload the barrels. I've counted… there should be enough barrels for the lot of you. I'll stand guard until you are safely downriver." 

The hobbit nodded, looking anxious but ready. Legolas smiled assuredly and then a feeling of sadness crept over him as he realized he would have to say farewell to the hobbit. Although they did not know each other well, Legolas had greatly enjoyed the hobbits company and considered him to be a friend. "I suppose this is our formal good-bye," he said. "I wish you luck on your journey. Perhaps we shall meet again, one day…" Legolas stopped, not really knowing what else to say. He was rather sad to let the hobbit go when he still had so much to learn about this rather amazing little creature and his people. 

"Thank you for everything, Prince," the hobbit replied graciously, taking Legolas' hand in both of his. "I shall never forget your kindness. And yes, perhaps, just perhaps, we will bump into each other on another adventure." Legolas clapped the hobbit on the shoulder in one last friendly gesture before turning to leave.

He exited the palace through the great doorway and stood at the top of the stairs, gazing out into the forest. Torches lit the entryway and continued snake their way along the path and into the woods, leading to the great woodland clearing not but half a mile off the main road. There were various Elves dawdling down the dirt road, chatting merrily to each other, their silver wine goblets sparkling randomly as they reflected the light of the torches. But, Legolas knew, most everyone was already at the festivities. He pulled at his collar and smoothed out his tunic before bounding down the stairway and across the bridge to the pathway. 

He entered the clearing where lanterns and torches lit the area spectacularly. It was the most light Legolas had ever seen within Mirkwood, and although it was no substitute for sunlight or moonlight, it was most certainly welcome in this ever-darkening realm. Many tables and tents were set up and decorated with lovely green leaves and rusty-colored berries, both of which were hard to come by in the gloomy reaches of the forest. A large bonfire roared in the middle of the clearing, there were minstrels and instrument players, and an area had been cleared for dancing. He wished he had time to admire how wonderful everything looked, but he reminded himself that he had to set a serious mind for the task at hand. There was no time to be distracted by the festival. He took a deep breath and initiated step one of the plan: find one of his parents and give them reason to believe that everything was perfectly normal.

He searched the crowd of people for his parents and spotted his mother with a group of other Elves. She was caught up in a dance involving a string of tiny bells tied around the wrist so that there was a delightful jingle-jangle ringing in the air. Legolas marveled at how lovely she looked, a line of leaves and berries entwining themselves throughout her dark hair. His eyes had also found his father on the far side of the clearing, mingling with several other men although he constantly shifted his eyes to the dance, watching appreciatively as his wife moved gracefully to the lively rhythm of the music. The dance soon finished and there were cheers and laughter. 

Lothelien caught her son's eye and came towards him, a radiant glow alighting her face. "Legolas! Where have you been? I haven't seen you at the festivities all evening," she said, laughing and catching her breath. 

Legolas just smiled naturally, and said, "I was getting ready for tonight." 

Her smile faded slowly and she gave a tiny, slightly exasperated sigh. "Legolas, are you all right?" she asked earnestly. "You've been acting rather strange lately, so I've noticed and so others have pointed out to me. You're so secretive and you've hardly left your room in the past few days. And now you look incredibly sad. Is anything the matter?"

At that moment, Legolas felt like telling her everything. About the hobbit, about the plan to help him and the Dwarves escape, and how sad he was that he couldn't spend more time with his new friend. But, he fought the urge, knowing that he could not do anything to endanger his friend. "No, mother," he answered, forcing his tone to be cheerful. "I'm just fine. I don't know why you are so worried when there's no need to be. Come now, lets enjoy the festival."  

Lothelien smiled and kissed her son on the cheek, chuckling as he darted his eyes around, embarrassed that his mother would do such a thing in front of all these people. He brought a hand up to his cheek and rubbed it vigorously as she sent him off into the droves of people. A wave of relief swept over him. Step one, complete. Now, on to step two: find Galion, the butler. 

A daunting task, given the number of people present. But luck seemed to be on his side tonight for with one swooping glance he found Galion almost immediately. The butler was overseeing the deliverance of several platters of food that were being laid out upon the tables, ordering his helpers to place the platters down, then frowning at the display and ordering them to rearrange them, only to frown again and have them rearrange once more. His helpers made impatient faces as they were anxious to join their friends in all the merrymaking. 

Legolas pushed through the crowds of people and called out, "Good evening, Galion!" 

The butler looked around among the crowd of faces and smiled widely as he spotted Legolas. "Ah, greetings young Prince! A grand festival, is it not?" 

"Oh, indeed," Legolas answered as he came up beside the butler. "It only grows better every time. But, alas, Father is hollering for more wine, Galion," he said, almost apologetically.  

Galion smiled knowingly. "I could have guessed as much. Well, I was just going down to send the empty barrels back to Esgaroth. I'll bring some full ones up on my was back." He turned and called out to two of his assistants who had stole away and were laughing and enjoying the festivities. "You two, come with me. We need to get rid of those empty barrels and the King calls for more wine." At this point, Legolas realized that if Galion recruited more Elves to help him with the barrels, the plan would be lost. But luck came through for him again.

"Oh, but we were just about to join in the dance," they whined. Galion sighed and rolled his eyes, wondering why he was cursed with such lazy workers. 

Legolas made his move. "I'll help you, Galion," Legolas offered. 

"Ah, no," Galion said kindly. "You must stay here and enjoy the fun."

"It's all right. I'm not busy at the moment," Legolas said casually. He did not want too seem overly keen on lending a hand lest the butler become suspicious. 

Galion looked down at Legolas, a skeptical look on his face. But, he gave in. He looked back at the two partying Elves. "Fine, you two. One dance, then come down and help." He turned back to Legolas. "All right, come if you wish," he said.

The two Elves walked into the caverns together and down the many hallways and stairs to the underground cellar. When they had nearly reached their destination, they heard a voice call out to them. "Galion!" They stopped and turned around to see Armeldir, the Captain of the Guard. "I saw those two giving you trouble," he said as he came up to them. "I can give you a hand."

Blast! What luck, Legolas thought. The plan has already been sabotaged and we haven't even begun. Of course, Galion was glad to have the help and Legolas could do nothing but follow the two older men down into the cellar. Their footsteps echoed as they entered the large area. The cellar was cool and dimly lit but not damp as one might expect. The wine would never keep if the cellar was too damp. 

Legolas' nerves were settling in. This was it; the plan was in full effect now. Step three: convince Galion _and_ Armeldir to have a sip of wine. He tried to act utterly normal as he helped Armeldir and Galion stack the large barrels, lining them up so that they could easily be dumped down the trapdoor into the running river below. Then, he took a breath and put on his most innocently curious face. "How do you know the wine is good?" he asked. 

"Well, the cellar should be kept clean and dry so the wine wont spoil so easily. But, you really don't know the quality of the wine until you taste it," Galion replied as he counted the barrels to be brought up for the feast. 

"Shouldn't you taste it before it's served to everyone? You can't have bad wine at the Autumn Festival," Legolas said, feigning great worry. Galion gave him a dubious look. "Father would be terribly embarrassed and angry if his wine were bad," Legolas added. 

"Well, I suppose a little taste wouldn't hurt," Galion said, looking at the Captain who just shrugged. 

"I have some cups here somewhere," he said as he rummaged through the shelves. Several silent moments passed as the butler searched for some drinking vessels. Armeldir and Legolas exchanged glances as Galion muttered frustratingly to himself. 

"Let me help you," Armeldir said. 

In the meantime, Legolas wondered how he would be able to slip the sleeping drought into their drinks. Inspiration hit him as his eyes fell upon two empty flagons on the table. Quickly, as both Elves backs were turned to him, he undid the lid of the vial and splashed the tiniest amount of liquid into each flagon. His hand fumbled as he scrambled to put the cap back on the vial, aware the Galion and Armeldir could turn around at any moment, and he dropped the little container on the floor. It made a clinking noise as it bounced on the ground, but the sound was magnified as an echo throughout the room. 

"Did you drop something?" Armeldir asked Galion. The butler shook his head and Legolas quickly kicked the vial under the small table. 

"Here, there are two flagons on the table," Legolas said, gesturing to the two flagons. "Why don't you just use those?" He hoped he didn't sound too desperate as he suggested this.

"Ah, might as well," Galion said, giving up his search. "I don't seem to have any goblets here anyhow." He took the flagons and poured a little wine into each, handing one to Armeldir before sitting across from him at the tiny wooden table. "To the King, and his glorious Autumn Festival," he said, raising his flagon for a toast. The two men clinked their vessels together and each took a deep sip. Legolas watched all of this keenly, witnessing his plan unfold brilliantly before his eyes.   

Galion turned to Legolas. "My lord, you have nothing to worry about," he said, nodding towards his drink. "The wine is excellent! The best I've tasted in years, as a matter of fact." Galion went on talking energetically, as he was prone to do, and Armeldir sat and listened quietly, nodding his head every once in a while in agreement. Soon the eyes of both Elves began to droop heavily and Armeldir gave a long yawn before dropping his head to the table. Galion remained talking to himself for a few moments longer before his voice faded and he, too, nodded off into a deep sleep. Legolas was greatly surprised at how fast the drought had taken effect. He only hoped that he would be able to rouse them later on. But now, it was time for step four: retrieve the Dwarves for departure.

"All right, hobbit," Legolas called out softly. "I've done it. They're asleep now." He heard soft tread of footsteps and suddenly the keys on Armeldir's belt were unhooked and began to float down the hallway. Legolas followed, but stopped at the doorway. "You know where your friends are kept. Good luck."

Legolas leaned against the doorway and waited. And waited… and waited. What is going on? he wondered. He could hear the low voices of the Dwarves drifting down the hallway. He glanced back at the butler and the chief guard, listening for a moment to their heavy, even breathing. Deeming it safe to leave the two sleeping Elves unattended, he went up the corridor and peeked his head into the holding area. The last Dwarf was being freed from his cell and they all stood around, murmuring to each other, awaiting the hobbit's explanation. Legolas called out to the hobbit.  

"What are you doing?" he asked exasperatedly. "That sleeping drought isn't going to last forever, you know." 

The hobbit gave a start and whirled around, relieved to see that it was only Legolas. "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. He shot an annoyed glance at the Dwarves. "But, I told you it wouldn't be an easy task." 

The head Dwarf, called Thorin, let out a loud snarl. "What is that Elfling doing here?" he grumbled. He took a defensive stance, his feet set firmly on the ground, fists clenched. "Stand your ground, men! We're not about to be taken again."

Legolas entered the room fully and stood tall. Even at his young adolescent age, he stood nearly a foot taller than all of them. 

"No, no," the hobbit exclaimed, coming between the two and waving his arms. He put a hand on Thorin's arm and lowered it gently. "This is the king's son and he has offered to help us," he explained soothingly. 

The Dwarves eyed him warily and Legolas stared back at Thorin right in the eye, not willing to feel threatened by a gang of dwarves. Meanwhile, the hobbit explained the plan in full detail to the Dwarves. "It will be a bumpy ride," he finished, "but it's our only chance."

Thorin scrutinized Legolas. "And the boy is going to help us escape?" he said, turning to look at the hobbit skeptically. 

"Yes," Legolas said, answering for himself. He gestured towards the hobbit. "Although, if it wasn't for my friend here, I would never be helping you in the first place."

"I don't _need_ any help from a _pointy-ear_," Thorin replied darkly, obviously secure in his own abilities. 

"I would like to think otherwise." 

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!" the hobbit pleaded.  "As you can see, we are pressed for time here. We have already wasted most of it, so lets be off."

Thorin gave Legolas another highly scrutinizing look and grunted in acceptance but remained sulky. The hobbit led them out of the dungeons and down to the wine cellar, Legolas taking up the rear. Some of the Dwarves were startled as they saw the two Elves seated at the table but the hobbit assured them that they were asleep. He gestured to the empty barrels that had been stacked and ready for departure. The Dwarves looked apprehensive at first, but relented when the hobbit pleaded with them, telling them that this was their only way out. Together, he and Legolas helped each of the Dwarves into his own separate barrel. They were just about to fit the lid on the last barrel, containing Thorin, when Legolas heard footsteps and voices floating down the corridor. Panicked, he shoved Thorin down into the barrel and slammed the lid shut before the Dwarf had time to protest. 

"Hide!" he told the hobbit who obliged quickly. Legolas turned around just as the two Elves entered the room. These were the two Elves that Galion had asked to help him before. Certainly not ones for punctuality, he thought. But that was a blessing for his plan anyway.   

"Good evening, your highness," they said, surprised that the young Prince was not outside.  "What are you doing here?"

"I was… looking… for… Galion!" Legolas said slowly, trying to come up with an excuse. "But I see that he is asleep now so, uh…" 

"Asleep?" one of the Elves exclaimed. They followed Legolas' gaze to the little table where Galion and Armeldir were dozing happily. "How did that happen?" He turned to his friend, a confused look on his face. "We didn't take that long, did we?"

The other Elf walked over to the table and picked up the toppled flagon. He grinned. "Drank himself to sleep, I see. Why, I don't believe it. And the Captain, too! The wine must be extra potent this time if it can make two Wood-Elves fall asleep like babes."

The other Elf crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. "Well, wake him!" he said impatiently to his friend. "We're missing all the fun above!"  

Galion was not very happy to have been awoken so roughly, especially by this particular pair of Elves, which only made them laugh. "You're late," he grouched, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "I've been waiting for ages." At this, the Elves laughed a little harder. "What's so funny? Go on, get those barrels rolling!" The Elves exchanged amused looks and did what they were told as Galion scratched his head in wonder, trying to figure out how he had fallen asleep. 

A few moments later, the Elves called for the butler's attention. "Galion!" they exclaimed as they leaned the barrels on their sides. 

"What?" he snapped moodily.

"You've had so much to drink that you've lost your wits. These barrels are full. You've stacked the wrong ones!"

Legolas' heart caught in his throat. This was it; the hobbit and his friends were done for! He was just about to speak up—to do or say anything to keep them from opening the barrels. Fortunately, Galion and his newly coarse disposition saved the day. 

"Oh, get on with it!" Galion growled. "I stacked those barrels myself—no help from you two—and they are empty. Now the least you could do is push them into the river, so just get on with it!"

The Elves, eager to get back to the festivities and undaunted by the butlers foul mood, smiled skeptically. "All right, whatever you say, Galion," they replied and one by one they sent the barrels rolling down the trapdoor with a splash.  As Legolas watched, he hoped that the lids were on tight. He cringed to imagine what would happen if a lid popped open and out tumbled a dwarf. Although, it would rather of funny, he admitted.  

"Can I raise the portcullis?" Legolas asked, eyeing the rope that lifted the portcullis at the watergate so that the barrels could travel downstream to Esgaroth. 

"Go ahead," Galion said through a yawn, still shaking off his sleepiness. 

Legolas ran over to the rope and pulled with all his might. It was much heavier than he had expected and he strained as he brought one hand over the other to haul the metal gate. He looked over his shoulder to see if the others were watching him and was surprised to see the hobbit still standing behind some of the barrels, looking frightened. Legolas was so jolted that he let go of the rope and he winced as he heard the loud splash as the portcullis dropped back down into the water. Startled, the others looked up from their tasks. Then one of them frowned at Legolas, pushing him aside and hauling the rope himself with long, fluid pulls. 

Legolas raised his eyebrows at the hobbit in a desperate questioning gesture but the hobbit just shrugged. He had been so concentrated on getting the dwarves situated that he had forgot to put himself into one of the barrels! 

"Legolas, are you sure you're all right?" Galion asked, genuine concern creeping into his voice. "What is it that you are looking at?" 

Legolas kept his eyes on the hobbit as the last barrel was about to be sent downriver. Do something! he urged the hobbit silently. He suppressed a gasp as the hobbit grabbed on to the last barrel in desperation before disappearing altogether from view. Finally, Legolas turned to Galion, his heart pounding in his chest. "Nothing… its nothing," he said assuredly, although the crack in his voice suggested otherwise. He watched as the barrel rolled bumpily over the edge of the doorway, disappearing down the river.

The Elf who had rolled the last barrel sighed as he turned to the rest. "Well, that's the last of them," he announced happily. They were eager to get upstairs to rejoin the ongoing revelries. And at this point, Legolas was too. 

After awakening the Captain, who had slept throughout the whole ordeal, the group of Elves grabbed the full wine barrels and made their way out of the cellars, back to the cool fresh air of the outdoors. Legolas walked behind the others as they hurried to join the festivities above. As he did so, he couldn't suppress a wide smile and sense of pride. He could hardly believe how lucky he had been. His plan had been successful, even if it had not worked out perfectly. 

But he hoped that the hobbit and his companions would end up all right.  

____________________

« Author's Notes »

Armeldir » "friend of the king"

The water that Legolas used to put Galion and Armeldir to sleep is from the so-called Enchanted River that runs through northern Mirkwood. That is the same river that Bombur fell into on Bilbo's journey through Mirkwood, for those of you who have read _The Hobbit_. 

In the next chapter we'll be heading back to Rivendell to check up on Ereselle and her siblings. These first few chapters will continue to bounce back and forth between Legolas and Ereselle but not for long! Stay tuned…     

Reviews are very helpful and most appreciated!

_Thanks to the following:_

Princess Myra » Thanks for your review. Don't worry about asking questions, I'm always happy to answer or clarify as long as it doesn't give too much of the story away. ;p And even then, I will try to answer to the best of my ability. We might not be seeing too much romance anytime soon, but there will be romance in later chapters between several of the characters, including Legolas. 

Athena Diagon Cat » Thank you! 

Ilúvënis » I loved your review… very informative. =D Thanks for being so honest and giving your opinion. It is highly valued, as are all the reviews I receive! 

Ilovesam » I'm glad you enjoyed it. Don't worry, the chapters are kind of long, so its ok. Hehehe. 


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